The Art of Communication
by SomewhereApart
Summary: Regina learns about the perils of message previews, the importance of will power, and Robin's way with words. Oh, and a certain social media platform. Breaking In verse. For OQSmutWeek


_**Author's Note:**_ _Set in the Breaking In-verse, for OQ smut week, prompt: "After being teased all day with sexts and pictures"_

On a Thursday morning in September, Regina Mills gets her first ever unsolicited dick pic. In a meeting. With her employer. And the man who is obsessed with her. And her sometimes-friend-sometimes-rival.

They're going over some of the finer points of the transition in the TLK account, and it's headache-inducing enough as it is without the regular buzzing of her cell phone near her elbow, so Regina is, quite frankly, ignoring him.

Robin has been flirting with her since he woke up twenty minutes ago – teasing messages, ridiculously overblown compliments that are meant to make her laugh, or smile, no doubt. And they've all been fairly tame, so she doesn't think anything of the way her phone is resting face up next to her legal pad, no more than six inches from Mal's lazily drumming fingertips.

At least, she doesn't until Mal slides her elbow over just a few inches closer, and offers up a quiet—but pointed—clearing of her throat. Regina glances over and meets Mal's waiting gaze, which flicks immediately down to the phone between them as soon as she knows she has Regina's attention.

When Regina follows, her own eyes pop wide at what she sees.

Robin's flirtation has become a bit more, uh… explicit, and her screen is covered in messages:

 _I know it's only been a few days but I can't wait to have you again_

 _All I can bloody think about_

 _Thinking about how you taste, the way you moan when I suck your clit the way you like_

 _The way you feel all wrapped around my cock_

 _Wanna make you cum again, babe. Wanna feel how wet I make you – are you wet now, luv?_

 _Sitting at your desk, thinking of me?_

 _Do you know what I'm doing?_

And then, at the very top of the list, a picture—and she thanks God above that the photo preview is just a tiny thumbnail, but thumbnail or not, the contents of the photo are obvious: Robin's hand wrapped around his very erect cock. And nothing else.

Her mouth goes dry, heat chasing mortification up the back of her neck, flaming over her cheeks as Mal murmurs a nearly inaudible, "You might want to turn your phone over…"

Regina does, wordlessly, with only one thought in her panicked mind: _She's going to fucking kill him._

 **.::.**

By the time her meeting is over, three more photos have found their way onto her phone – no, scratch that, two photos and a video. The video she doesn't dare to watch, even in the relative safety of her office (the walls are _glass_ , she can't watch _that_ at work), but the thumbnail is a motion-blurred photo of Robin's hand mid-stroke, so she can only _imagine_ what the full ten seconds holds. The other two photos are of Robin's hand resting loosely around the base of his cock, a puddle of cum visible on his belly, and of his sleepy, sated, smiling face.

And there's another text: _Miss you_

She's _pissed_.

And also… damp. Wet. _At work_.

And she's going to call him and tell him exactly why – why she's pissed, not why she's wet. He doesn't need to know _that_ , it will only encourage him.

So she shuts her office door, and pulls up their messages again, flips through them—for ammo, to tell him exactly the kind of images he cannot be sending her _during her workday_. Not at all because the sight of his own hand wrapped around him while he jerks off to the thought of her turns her on immensely.

Because it doesn't.

And she doesn't at all mean for her thumb to land on the little play button of that video either, it's just a fluke, just a poorly placed swipe as she intends to move past it, but then it's playing, and the sound of his quiet groans spills from the phone.

She mutters, "Shit!" and punches her volume down immediately, until the video is silent. And then she cradles it in her lap, hides it between her palms, and watches the steady stroke of his hand updown updown updown...

Her heart is thudding, her skin hot, she shouldn't be _doing_ this – watching porn at work. At her desk. Watching her lover jerk himself off for ten whole seconds, the rhythm mesmerizing, the speed of his strokes picking up ever so slightly.

It ends just as abruptly as it started, and she is absolutely _not_ disappointed that it ends before he finishes. She's not, because the video is inappropriate, and out of line, and God, she wants him again, that sneaky, dirty bastard.

She hits play again, and sweats out another viewing of the whole ten seconds, only this time she eases the volume up two clicks – low enough that even she can barely hear it, much less anyone outside her closed office door.

He groans her name halfway through, and she clamps her lip between her teeth as her thighs clench.

Watching this again with the sound on was a bad idea.

It's only – God, not even noon – and he has a shift at the Rabbit Hole tonight. This slippery ache between her thighs has no hope of satisfaction for hours, days.

Bastard.

After the last frame wobbles and comes to a stop, Regina taps his contact, and hits call, turning her chair slightly away from the door, in case anyone out in the bullpen has managed to learn to lipread.

Robin picks up after two rings, giving her a smug, satisfied, "Hello, love," in greeting.

" _You cannot send me porn at work_ ," is the hissed missive he gets in reply. "I was in a _meeting._ With my _boss_."

"Oh," he says, and then, "Oops." At least he sounds genuinely apologetic. "Did he see it?"

"No, he didn't," she tells him primly. "But Mal did."

"I see… All of it?"

"No, just all the text notifications, and the first photo – which is plenty, and far more than anybody I work with needs to know about my personal life."

"You should turn off your notification previews," Robin tells her simply, and Regina seethes (and throbs, pressing her thighs together).

"You should _tell me_ if you're going to start _sexting_ me at _work_ ," Regina whispers heatedly.

"Regina?" he says, and then, "I'm going to start sexting you at work."

She scoffs, eyes rolling heavenward as she shakes her head (and makes a mental note to turn off her message previews as soon as they hang up the phone).

"No, you're not," she tells him, and she can practically hear his pout as he asks her, _Why not?_ "Because it's inappropriate. Because we could get caught, and I'd have to quit my job and set myself on fire out of embarrassment."

He makes this little hum, and then says, "I was hoping you'd say because it got you all hot and bothered in the middle of the day."

That too, she thinks. But she's sure as hell not going to voice it.

As a result, she stays silent just a bit too long – long enough for him to ask in this low voice that _does things_ to her when it sounds against her ear: "Are you wet, love?"

"I'm working," she tells him, firmly.

But he hears it for the non-answer it is, and simply points out, "Not what I asked, babe."

She huffs out a breath and drops her voice even _lower_ , whispering fiercely, "I am not having phone sex with you in my office."

"I don't recall asking you to," he says casually. "But I must admit, I'm a bit disappointed I'm not there with you right now. Because you still haven't answered my question, which makes me think the answer is yes. And if I was there, I could just… slip under your desk, tug that chair in close and push your—"

"Robin, stop it!" she hisses.

"Why?"

"I'm _working_."

"Not right now, you're not. Right now, you're talking to me."

She rolls her eyes. "Not about this."

"You're no fun," he pouts, and how did she end up sleeping with such a child? "What's the harm in a little midday sexting, hmm?"

She shouldn't. She absolutely shouldn't. But she can't help herself, can't help the rush of words bitten off one by one: "Because it got me all hot and bothered in the middle of the day." She ignores his chuckle as she says, "And there's nothing I can do about it. And it's embarrassing."

"Why is it embarrassing? It's like a naughty little secret; nobody knows but us."

And Mal, but he conveniently forgets to mention that, doesn't he?

" _I_ know," she insists. "And I don't want to read about you eating me out while I'm sitting two feet from one man I've known since I was a child, and another who probably wants me to _have_ his child. They might not know, but I do, and being aroused around them is… uncomfortable."

"I see… Are you back in your office now?"

"No, I'm talking about my arousal in the middle of the conference room," she deadpans. "I made a bar graph about my horniness, it's on the projector screen right now."

Robin snorts a little on the other end of the line, and tells her, "Well, I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable earlier – truly. I am. But… you're alone now… and I could be talking about giving you those little butterfly licks you like on your clit while you type away at your keyboard."

She tries not to inhale audibly, she really does, but the second he says it, all she can think of is the memory of writhing on her sheets while he fluttered his tongue against the so-sensitive bud of her clit, her thighs shaking as she gasped his name, one hip held firmly in his grasp while his other hand spread her open for him. And, well, now she's even _wetter_.

"My walls are glass," she reminds dumbly, pressing her thighs together again. "Secret office nooky is never going to happen."

"And that's why it's a fantasy," he points out. And then his voice goes a bit more serious for a moment, the teasing lilt of it dropping away as he says, "I miss you. I know it was just a few days ago, but I want you. I'm rather addicted, it seems."

Regina knows the feeling.

"Be that as it may, we can't all" —she drops her voice to a whisper again— " _masturbate_ " —and back to normal— "whenever we miss each other. Some of us work daytime hours."

"You could do it tonight, though," he smirks. She can _hear_ that stupid smirk again. "After Henry goes to bed, right? You could touch yourself, think of me… send a few naughty photos…"

"No photos," she insists. "I mean that – not for you, or from you. I've seen your phone in Henry's hands before, there will be no naked photos of either of us or any of our parts on either of these phones ever again. If he ever saw, I'd have to, I don't know, give him up for adoption to a family that _doesn't_ provide that kind of lasting childhood trauma."

"You raised him an hour from your mother; if he can survive that trauma, he can survive a mystery nude," he taunts her, and she feels it like a knife in the gut, more hurt than she probably ought to be. Especially considering he breezes right past it, and says, "But alright, I see your point. No more nudes, at least not at times of day where young eyes might happen upon them."

She shakes off the lingering feeling of… whatever it is (guilt, if she's honest – because she probably _shouldn't_ have raised him so close to her toxic bitch of a mother, and yet here they are…), and focuses on the conversation at hand: "No more nudes, ever. Too risky."

"We can always just delete them, you know," he reminds her, but then he sighs a little _too_ dramatically to be at all serious and says, "But fine, if you insist. No nudes. I'll have to rely on my imagination until I can see all your lovely bits again."

"Mm. Poor you."

"Definitely poor me," he murmurs, in that sultry sort of bedroom voice he has that makes certain parts of her go warm now, after hearing it in her ear all weekend long. "But you can still… work off the tension, sans photos."

"Not for _hours_ ," she points out. "So no more midday sexting, alright? It just gets me all wound up, and then I can't do anything about it. I'd say save it for the evening hours, but then _you'll_ be at work."

"Mm. Too true," he sighs, and she hears the slight rustling of fabric over the line. "I've never realized just how inconvenient our schedules are for finding time to get naked together."

She snorts a little at his bluntness, but it goads a smile out of her.

"I could sneak you texts from behind the bar," he says, and she shakes her head.

"Somehow I think that would go poorly," Regina tells him. "I can take a while; I think your customers might complain."

He sighs again, a heavy exhale in her ear, and says, "What a shame. I have to admit I'm very enamoured of the idea of you getting off to all the things I want to do to you."

"Me too," she admits, before she can stop herself. Shit.

Well.

It's out now.

And since it is, she clears her throat softly and says a very stupid thing: "Maybe I could… turn off my message previews, and you could send me a little something before you go to work? Something I could read… later… alone…" Her voice drops just above a whisper to add, "With my hand down my pants, where it's presently very, very wet."

He groans, predictably, and she grins. Good. Let them both be horny and frustrated.

"I think I could do that," he agrees. "But no peeking. I'll write you a nice little story to rub one out to tonight, and then tomorrow, maybe the boys can have a sleepover at your place, and I can sneak up to the bedroom after they're asleep?"

"Not a story," she decides. "A promise. Tell me all the things you're going to do to me, tomorrow. After the boys are asleep."

"Gladly. In detail?"

"Yes, please."

"Alright, babe. I'll give you two minutes to change your settings or turn your phone face down, and then I'll send you a little bedtime story."

Regina bites her lip, her stomach flip-flopping with anxious excitement – it shouldn't, she shouldn't do this, she's not going to be able to let her phone out of her hands for the rest of the day lest someone get a peek at her messages. But damnit, this week has been hard enough, the last _month_ has been hard enough, so if she wants to sext a bit with her lover, then can anyone really blame her? They're both adults, she's not really doing anything _wrong_.

"Okay," she tells him, and then, "I have to get back to work."

"Alright. Sorry about the pictures."

"It's alright," she sighs. "I'm pretty sure unsolicited dick pics are a female rite of passage; I had to get one someday."

"Well, I'm honored to be the first."

"I bet you are."

 **.::.**

She's always been good at self-control. Restraint. Holding herself back from her more indulgent urges.

But never where Robin is concerned, it seems.

When she hears the first telltale buzzing of her phone five minutes later, Robin's name appearing over a notification that just reads "Text Message", she reaches for it immediately, swiping to unlock it before she remembers he'd said no peeking.

Too late now, though. She's already peeked.

And if she's peeked, she might as well read, right? It's just a long paragraph, and then a little bubble with the three little dots that tell her he's still typing.

Regina sinks her teeth into her lower lip and reads.

 _First off in this little tale of our future, I'd like you to know that you choose not to wear knickers under your leggings because I find that ridiculously sexy and distracting. Watching you walk around the house in just that and a t-shirt, or that hoodie of mine, or one of those little tops you wear, knowing you're bare under there is maddening. So of course I'll be spending the whole night trying *not* to think about all the naughty things I want to do once I get you naked, bc who wants to think about that in front of the kids?_

Who, indeed? She wrinkles her nose a little, and hopes he moves on quickly to a part that _doesn't_ mention their sons.

And then she remembers she's supposed to be working, not reading, so she sets it aside (face up, because nobody is perfect), and pulls up her emails.

And then her phone buzzes again.

 _But try as i might, by the time they go to bed I'm going to be desperate for you. It'll be all I can do to wait til they're down for the night (in the living room of course, so you can moan while I fuck you) before you give me that look that means business and head upstairs._

Work. _Working_. She's supposed to be _working_. Not licking her lips and waiting for his next text.

She forces herself to click open an email, to ignore the next time her phone buzzes, and even the one after that. But by the third one, her fingers are itching to reach over, and she's read the same line of this email four times.

Fuck it.

 _I'll follow you up the stairs if for no other reason than to watch that criminal ass of yours as you climb_

 _Might give it a little swat – would you jump and scold me or jump and gasp? Maybe we can find out tomorrow hm?_

Scold him, she thinks (she's lying, and she knows him). Definitely scold him.

 _I'll barely be able to wait til were in the bedroom luv but once we are I'm gonna pin you to the door and kiss you breathless, rub your clit over those leggings. You've been waiting all night too so you're warm and horny and when I rub between your thighs the fabric starts to get damp, soaking thru from how wet you are for me_

Fuck. She needs to stop reading this at work.

Regina presses her thighs together hard, turns her phone upside down, and goes back to those emails.

She makes it through five more messages before she caves again.

 _Are you still wet luv? I bet you are, sitting at your desk wondering what I'm going to write to you. All slippery for me and I'm not even there._

(Bastard.)

 _So fucking hot. Everything about you is so painfully sexy. I'm utterly besotted. Just knowing I got you all hot and bothered has me half hard again_

 _But I digress_

 _I'll keep kissing you against that door, keep rubbing you until you start to writhe and pant and make those sexy little sounds in the back of your throat. (love those sounds) And then I'll tug those leggings down to your thighs just like I did the first time I fingered you_

 _Do you remember that? God that was hot. You were so wound up and so wet and you felt so bloody good around my fingers. Wanted you so bad. Wanted to eat you out, and feel you around my cock, wanted to fuck you right on that desk, give you a good rattle until you couldn't think about anything much less that feckless wanker_

She frowns a little at the mention of Sidney – not at all what she wants to be thinking of while reading things that make her ache like this.

But it's not enough to turn her off completely, or to keep her from whispering, "Me, too," a little secret between her and her phone.

If she'd known then how good he felt inside her, she might have let him (she wouldn't have, but it's a nice thought, a good five-second fantasy, her propped on that little desk while he rattled her bones until her eyes rolled back from how badly she needed to cry out but couldn't).

But the workplace isn't a place for sexy fantasies, even five-second ones, so she sets her phone down again – or she means to, but it buzzes in her hand just as she's about to let it go, and… well…

 _I'm gonna finger you again tomorrow. Gonna rub your clit, get it all slick and wet, make you make those little circles with your hips and watch the way your lashes flutter while I make you feel good. Gonna keep kissing you, slower now, gonna rub your clit nice and slow too but *hard*—_

(Regina lets out a tiny, quiet moan, can't help it, and feels her cheeks flush with embarrassment the second it escapes her. She should _not_ be reading this right now. But she is...)

— _until you're panting and your thighs are starting to shake like they do right before you cum. And then I'm gonna slip my fingers inside you_

 _How many do you need luv?_

 _Two?_

 _Three?_

Fuck. (Three.)

 _Let's go with three._

God, she's caught up with him, and it's not a good thing. He can't be sending her these short little messages that she can see in real time. Can't give her a reason to sit here and wait for the next one. She needs to be _working._

 _I'll slide them in nice and slow, all three, bc you're soaking for me and you can take em right away. Give you a few deep thrusts and then I'm gonna curl them just right until your jaw drops and you make that little guh sound you make every time I find your gspot when you're all worked up._

 _And then I'm gonna fuck you. Hard._

Shit, she _has_ to stop reading his. She's like a fucking river delta right now, too wet and too humid and way too turned on to be _at work._ Her breath is shallow, and she's pretty sure her cheeks are _still_ flushed.

She puts her phone down.

For real this time.

For good.

In fact, she picks it up again and tugs out her keyboard tray and stashes it behind her keyboard for good measure. Out of sight, out of mind.

But, sadly, not out of earshot.

She can hear it under there. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz… Buzz, buzz. Buzz.

And on every one, she feels herself clench just a little. Tells herself to rein it in and _focus_ , but all she can focus on is just what Robin plans on doing with those three fingers that are up inside her.

But she is an adult, damnit. A professional. Not some horny teenager who can't keep her mind out of the gutter.

So she answers seven emails and sends three others before she gives into temptation and fishes the traitorous little device out from its hiding place.

 _Its gonna feel so good luv you're gonna gasp and moan and scrunch your eyes shut and I'm gonna remind you that you can't scream. We're not alone this time, its not like before when I could make you shout my name while you came on my fingers or my cock or my tongue. You'll have to be just a little quiet – not too quiet bc the kids are asleep all the way downstairs (clever that, innit?) – but you can't scream_

 _Not even when I drop to my knees and start flicking your clit with my tongue while I fingerbang you nice and hard just like you like, just like you need right now._

 _You can't even cry out when I start sucking you, pulling your clit into my mouth like you like, giving it those hard sucks you like. I think you're warmed up enough for those now yeah? I'm going to do it again and again and again and again while you tug my hair and gasp and push your hips toward my face. I'm gonna keep doing it til you cum luv and then I'm gonna suck even harder, just one long hard suck while you shake and buckle over and rake your nails thru my hair like you did the other night._

 _And then I'm gonna keep going bc I know you'll cum again for me and I fucking love making you cum and cum_

 _I'll slow down tho_

 _Draw it out, make it last_

 _Slow my fingers down, make it nice and deep and lazy for you. Let you catch your breath while I give you some nice slow licks, drag my tongue right over your clit and make you jerk. So sexy._

 _Fuck luv I'm so hard from telling you all this I'm gonna have to jerk off again_

"Lucky bastard," she mutters under her breath, not at all surprised by how thick and breathless her voice is. She needs to come. Embarrassingly so.

And she can't. For hours.

She hates him for this (hates herself for reading it). Loves him for this (can't wait to read it again, later, when she can _do_ something about it).

 _But not yet_

 _After I finish telling you how I'm gonna fuck you with my tongue for a bit. Your knees will be all shaky from cumming so we'll move to the bed and I'll pull that top off you and kiss your tits, suck your nipples. You like when I suck your nipples after you cum, don't think I haven't noticed._

She does, and, oh, Regina is _well aware_ that he's picked up on that little trick.

 _So I'll do that until you're squirming for me again and then I'll kiss my way down your belly, your hips, your thighs_

 _Fuck I was gonna make you cum again_

 _Back up, pretend we're still against the door_

Regina snorts, and shakes her head, rewinding her little mental movie dutifully.

 _You've just cum screaming on my fingers and I'm fucking you again nice and slow, licking your clit, and you're all sagged wonderfully against the door enjoying the way your thighs are still shaking, and I'm gonna keep my fingers nice and slow for you, but start giving you those quick little licks. The kinda flicking ones that make you breathe in quick through your nose and pull my hair_

 _Those ones_

Regina crosses her legs, hard.

 _I'm gonna keep em up until you're moaning all quiet in the back of your throat again, fucking you slowly with my fingers all the while, and then I'm gonna start sucking you again. Move my fingers faster faster faster until you start gasping again and begging me not to stop the way you do when you're about to cum. And I won't stop luv, I'll never stop, I'll keep going until you're cumming again for me_

 _Love when you cum on my fingers and I can feel you get all tight and your hips get all twitchy. I could spend all day and night watching you cum babe_

 _But you know that don't you_

He adds in a couple of those smirky devil emojis he's fond of there, because, yes, of course she knows that. She'd been jelly-kneed and breathless for half the weekend, had been eaten out until she'd gone from gasping for him not to stop to begging him _to_ stop because her clit was too sensitive for yet _another_ orgasm.

So yes, yes, she knows that. Very well.

And she needs to stop reading this at work (but she won't, and these mental protests are silly, and pointless, and growing weaker by the minute – if only that damp ache between her thighs would do the same…).

 _After you've cum again THEN we'll go over to the bed and I'll kiss your tits and suck your nips and kiss my way down to your positively soaked parts (we need to come up with something to call your bits so I can send you proper dirty texts luv) and I'll spread your lovely thighs and lick and suck along your lips the way you like, lap up all that lovely wetness I've stirred all up and then fuck you good and proper with my tongue_

She's staring at those three little dots when she hears the knock, and she jumps so hard she barely even catches Mal's, "Hey, Regina—" too busy flaring with mortification and bobbling her phone so frantically that she manages to actually drop it and have it bounce to the floor.

Mal takes one look at her and cackles.

Regina curses Robin Francis Locksley and his stupid need to sext her in the middle of the workday, bending to pick up her phone if not her dignity.

"Still going, huh?" Mal chuckles from above her, and Regina doesn't even know _what_ to say to that. Luckily Mal doesn't allow her much of a chance to respond, giving her an all-too-amused, "I'll come back later," and oh, no, no.

"No!" Regina blurts, and then she's dropping her head into her palm, mortified beyond belief as she pleads, "Please tell me you have something work-related you need me to take care of right now."

Mal lifts a brow, leans against the doorway and asks, "Are you sure about that?"

Regina grimaces – she can feel the flush in her cheeks, and she's still embarrassingly wet, even more embarrassing now that there's another person in her office, right in front of her, while her clit aches from lack of stimulation.

"If you don't, I'll just keep reading, and I… can't be reading these at work." She glances beyond Mal, determining that there's nobody even remotely within earshot, but she still drops her voice to almost nothing when she admits, "I'm dying. But he's… writing me something, and… I… can't…"

God, she can't even say it, but luckily Mal doesn't make her.

"Keep your eyes off it?" she suggests, not making any effort in the slightest to hide how amusing she finds this whole thing. Regina grimaces again, and nods. "Is it _good_?" she asks, her voice dropping into a low, conspiratorial drawl.

That's… that's none of her business.

Still, Regina confesses, "He's mouthy. And... vivid."

Mal snorts again, says, "I like this guy; sounds like he'll loosen you up," and then finally, finally tells her, "I have a question about the winter campaign, and could use your help."

Regina mutters, "Thank God," and rises from her seat (everything slips and slides and aches and, God, this was a terrible, terrible idea, they can never do this again), shoving her phone into the pocket of her skirt, and telling herself to put it out of her mind for now.

It buzzes against her hip once. And again a few minutes later. And a few seconds after that. And then again once she's sitting in Mal's office going over the plans she'd passed along to her just that morning. And then again, again, again.

Mallory, thankfully, doesn't say another word.

 **.::.**

She stops on the way back from Mal's office to use the ladies room, no longer quite so painfully aroused, thank God.

That doesn't last long, though.

She has to take that phone out of her pocket to use the toilet, and there are more texts. Dozens of texts, it seems like, Robin's name on her screen again and again and again. There's also an embarrassing damp spot on the crotch of her thong that she's trying very hard not to notice while she does the absolutely idiotic thing and opens their messages.

She skims a little – _hold your thighs while you cum again – suck your tits again because as we've well established you love it – sink my cock into you, you'll be so fucking wet god luv it'll feel so bloody good around me I can't wait – kissing you hard and deep – taste yourself on me – start to fuck you nice and slow – faster – gasping for me – how good my cock is – cumming hard and raking your nails down my back – again and you have to muffle your – cum inside you – so bloody good – I'm so hard right now luv you have no idea let me show you_

And then another picture.

Robin's erection, and God, he really is hard, thick, she can see that vein he likes having licked just so, and the shiny slipperiness of precum on his head, his foreskin slipped back just a little the way it does when he's stone solid for her.

Fuck. She shouldn't have looked at this.

 _Fuck. I said I wouldn't send any more of those._

 _I deleted it. I promise._

 _Gonna go beat off again before work. Hope you enjoy your bedtime story. Wish I could be there to see you read it_.

Regina lets out a breathless little laugh and finishes up her business (she resists the urge to reach down and rub one out – that little skim of what's to come has her damp again but certainly not desperate enough to do _that_ , _here_ ).

He may want to see her read it, but Regina, not so much. She stares at herself in the bathroom mirror as she washes her hands. Her eyes are bright, her cheeks just a little pink. She looks… well, normal, mostly. Passably so.

But she doesn't _feel_ normal.

She _feels_ like there's too much time left before end-of-day. Feels like she's going to be thinking about this for the rest of the damn afternoon.

And she feels… sexy. That ache between her thighs has gone from acute to a promising suggestion. She can feel that damp spot on her thong against her, clinging just a little, and a little cold after being exposed to the air for a minute. Her breasts feel… well, they _feel_. She's _aware_ of them, aware of the texture of ivory lace against her nipples.

So yes, she feels sexy. Sexual. A little naughty.

And she's alone in this bathroom. Alone, and apparently insane today because she's tapping out a message to Robin and ducking back into one of the stalls.

 _Is my son with you?_

It only takes him a few seconds to reply: _No, why?_

 _Is anyone with you?_

 _No, I just got out of the shower. What's up?_

Regina resists the urge to imagine him in a towel, or less, puts the thought of his muscled, dripping chest aside in favor of releasing the top, oh, four buttons on her blouse, tugging it open enough for that lace beneath to show.

And then she flips open the forward facing camera on her phone before she loses her nerve.

She makes a face, another, tries for sexy but thinks she just looks silly. And you know what? Her face is not the point – and not something she wants to risk anyone seeing – so she lines up the frame to cut off most of it and snaps a few shots that she will delete momentarily.

She picks the one she thinks looks the best, her lips slightly parted at the top of the frame, her boobs looking nice and perky in that bra, and then she sends it to him with a message: _I peeked._

Her heart pounds nervously as she buttons herself back up, keeping herself locked safely in the stall while she pulls up the pictures and deletes them from her Camera Roll, and then her trash.

Her next message from Robin makes her grin: _God you're gorgeous. If you're rubbing one out in the toilet cubicle at work I might just need another shower_

 _No, definitely not doing that. Just wanted to send you something. DELETE IT NOW._

She reaches for the stall door, but then what if he messages her again? Maybe she should stay for just another minute…

Sure enough, those three little dots appear; she waits them out until: _It's absolutely criminal, but I will._ And then a second later, _When I see you tomorrow, I'm introducing you to Snapchat and I'm going to send you dirty pictures that expire after ten seconds every day for the rest of our lives._

Regina laughs, shakes her head, and finally leaves the bathroom.

 **.::.**

She manages to survive on that quick skim all the way through her commute to Henry's school, and dinner, and homework. Makes it all the way until after Henry's bedtime before she opens her messages again.

But she can't deny there's a little skip in her step as she pads from her son's room down the hall to her own – not even bothering with her nightly routine yet.

She has _needs_ to take care of first.

Slipping under her sheet, she pulls up the thread again and scrolls all the way back to the top, one hand slipping down to rub at her clit as she does.

She reads through those first few flirty texts again, takes a good, hard look at the photos of him, lets that video play through with the sound up high enough to hear the rhythm of his hand as he jerks himself off for her, the way he'd panted between those low groans, the way her name had stuttered out of him just a little.

And then she watches it again. And again.

And then she keeps reading. Slowly. Taking her time to savor every word, speeding up when he does, slowing down when he does, letting her imagination run wild with the images he's painted for her.

She comes, finally, hard enough to make her toes curl, and her belly clench, her moans strangled off deep in her throat. And then she keeps reading, keeps rubbing, he's only just started eating her out, after all…

She comes again, and once more before she finishes, and then she lies there gasping to catch her breath, sweat dewing over her chest, at her temples.

Her knees are tingly; she misses him.

It turns out he's not the only one who wishes he was here to watch her read his little narrative, after all.

Too bad he's missed out.

Drawing damp fingers from beneath her waistband, she flips open her camera again, looking at herself, her flushed cheeks, her mussed hair. Her index finger is still wet, still tastes like her when she catches it between her teeth and manages something resembling sexy for the camera after all.

Suddenly his urge to show her just how turned on he was at the thought of her makes a little more sense (there's still no excuse for his timing, though).

But there's still that death by mortification to worry about, so she lets her finger fall away, closes the camera, and sighs.

Regina stares up at the ceiling for exactly forty-two seconds before she pulls up the app store and types in a single word: "Snapchat."


End file.
